Some things are true, and some are not; in the thicket of imagination, it never seems to matter. These are stories coaxed from the Wood, and stories wrought from the chaos of my existence.

Monday, November 16, 2009

testosterone

Wed, February 6, 2008Dimly through the music playing in my ears as I practiced dancing with my poi I began to hear deep voices, laughter and the slam! slam! of a basketball on the other side of the divider. I kept dancing, ignoring the sound- I usually have the gym to myself, with just the runners on the track over my head. As I lay on the ground practicing my ground moves (plow pose, poi spinning above my ass) I suddenly realize there's a jarhead on the track above me shouting and grinning to whomever is dribbling on the other side. Laughter and shouts greet him, he's taking pictures of them with his cell phone, grinning like a maniac.

I finish dancing and go change into my track sneaks. I've been running on that second story track lately, to keep my stamina in preparation for spring running in the woods. As I get onto the track I realize that there is an entire pack of jarheads on the court now, booming laughter, pushing each other, general big dude mayhem as they organize their game. There's a smorgasboard down there, all races and colors, but they look like they've all come out of the same press mold. All roughly 6 feet tall, shaved heads or flattops, t-shirts tight across the pecs, shorts and sneakers.

They start their game. This is no ordinary polite game of pickup. They're screaming like monkeys, slamming each other into the walls, the floor, each other... they're out for bruises and blood. The game starts to heat up, primal screams and booming laughter, deep shouts echo off the walls as they start to really sweat. Every now and then one or another will watch me cruise by.

As they start to sweat, the heat and energy of their game starts to rise. If it had a scent, it would be fierce and pungent, with sharp teeth and intent. Suddenly I realize I am reacting to this, this invisible, ephemeral cloud of sweat and pheromones carrying up to the second floor track. You would never catch me giving my phone number to any one of these guys; alone, they are not attractive- but as a sweaty group, screaming and pushing and joyous, it is intoxicating. I am their captive audience, running around and around, the grin on my foolish face getting wider and wider. My stride lengthens, my energy rises, I am sweating along with them- stupid body, I was born to react to this even if I am intellectually uninterested. Biology. I start to ache for spring. Their screams make me laugh, I can't seem to help it. As soon as my time is up I get the hell out of there. Wow.